


Actions Speak Louder than Words

by TimmyJaybird



Series: Ground Zero [2]
Category: Batman (Movies - Nolan), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-31
Updated: 2013-10-31
Packaged: 2017-12-31 00:34:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1025250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimmyJaybird/pseuds/TimmyJaybird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bruce spends his day thinking- about this so called "war", about what it could mean to Gotham, about the Joker's damned kiss.<br/>The Joker spends his day acting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Actions Speak Louder than Words

_He had my mask off, and he didn’t even try to see my face._

Bruce was sitting on the couch in his penthouse, nursing a cup of coffee. Outside it was pouring, a late afternoon shower to clean Gotham of the filth she always seemed to fall in. He’d only been awake perhaps an hour- he’d passed out around dawn, after a long chat with Alfred regarding his night-

Well, except for one minor detail- the Joker’s kiss, and the sweet feelings it caused in Bruce’s chest and stomach.

Growling, he took another sip of the hot coffee, trying to scald the taste of him away. It had haunted him in his sleep, even when he awake. Brushing his teeth hadn’t even cleared it away.

Or maybe it had, and Bruce was just remembering. At this point, he couldn’t be sure.

He took another sip just as Alfred walked out, settling down on the couch across from Bruce.

“Master Wayne, I got those files you requested when you came home,” he said, holding out a manila folder. Bruce reached for it with a nod of thanks and flipped it open, glossing over pages. The latest updates from Arkham.

If there was indeed a war at hand, he needed to know the players. And it would be pretty hard to play if you were locked up.

“The Riddler is still locked up,” he mused, rather happy. One down. “And Mad Hatter.” Two.

“But do you consider either of them real _players_ , Master Wayne?”

Bruce took a ship of his coffee and sighed. “Maybe not, but they can be used. The Joker said it’s every man for himself, but I doubt that. It would just end in pure chaos. There’s got to be some order.”

“And what would that be, sir?”

“I don’t know,” Bruce admitted, draining the rest of his coffee. “I don’t know, Alfred.”

The rain was rattling off the old metal roof, enough to give him a migraine. The Joker reached up and rubbed his temples, his fingers like ice. Next to him, shivering, Harley sat, hugging her shoulders, a discarded gun next to her, like a forgotten toy.

They’d been holed up for a good thirty minutes, after spending countless more running through the rain. They’d spent half the night on a rooftop, alert and vigil, before they had dared to go look up one of the men under the Joker’s protection. One of the countless drug dealers, the Joker had promised Harley he’d hole them up for a day or two while he got his plan in order, while he kick started something he hadn’t planned on for at least a month.

They’d found the man cut to pieces and left all over the floor, a sack hanging from the ceiling like a pinata. A rather not-so-subtle warning, with no name attached to it.

Someone knew the Joker was a threat, a real player, and they aimed to get him off the board before the game even really started.

He reached an arm out when he heard Harley whimper, pulled her little body against his and held her awkwardly. As she nestled into him for warmth, he closed his eyes and daydreamed about all the throats he’d get to rip out in payment for degrading him to this- even if he knew he’d have something churning in his mind within the hour.

Blood would spill, and he’d be damned if he was _his_.

“Dammit, when did Croc get out?”

Bruce was on his third cup of coffee and the contents of the folder Alfred gave him are scattered across the coffee table. The sky had grown darker with the storm, and it would be an early night- Bruce would have to done his mask and cape sooner than expected. He couldn’t forgo even a precious second on the streets if something was really brewing in Gotham’s underbelly.

“I’m not sure, sir,” Alfred said, refilling his coffee cup again. “Arkham is terrible about keeping anyone up to date with who comes and goes.”

Bruce gritted his teeth and scorched his throat on the coffee, before he stood up. “I’m going to shower,” he said, “and then I’m hitting the streets. Can you do me a favor Alfred?” The man nodded. “I need full reports on Arkham _and_ Blackgate.”

“On every inmate, Master Wayne?”

“Every single one.” He gulped most of the coffee Alfred had poured and then set the mug down. “Every war needs soldiers, Alfred. And the meaner and more deranged, the better for this.”

Once the sun was down, it was all in motion. Heels clicking on sidewalk, the Joker tossed his green curls in the rain. Harley had stopped shivering and had a skip to her step, despite having been on her feet for quite a while as they walked along the dark allies of the city. It didn’t matter- they had a plan. Of course the Joker had one, he always did. She never lost faith, not once.

The old warehouse was a sweet sight, albeit one for sore eyes, with broken glass along some of the lower windows. The Joker walked over to one, and lifting a jagged piece of scrap wood off the ground, smashed what remained of the window with a laugh. He climbed through, purple gloved hands dusting glass debris away, and reached out, lifting Harley through and placing an almost sweet, chaste kiss to her red lips as he set her down on the concrete floor.

The warehouse was not a new space to either of them. They’d been here countless times to get whatever drugs they needed- be it to knock the Batman off his ass so he could be tied up without a fight, or something more fun to throw at their underlings as a reward- as if not killing them wasn’t enough.

Down a flight of stairs towards the basement, the Joker threw open a large door which was carelessly unlocked and grinned, hands on his hips as he stood in the doorway.

“Hello there sweetie,” he said with a giggle, and a pair of grey eyes jerked up to meet him- a scowl crossing an otherwise rather handsome, youthful looking face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He was irritated, his voice firm- definitely not high this time. _What a shame_.

“Johnny, Johnny, Johnny boy, language,” he said, strolling over, running his fingers along the lab table that had various vials and containers bubbling and fizzing. “Is that anyway to greet a _friend_?”

“I wasn’t aware you had friends, Joker,” he said, setting down the graduated cylinder he had been holding. “And for the last time, cut ti with your pathetic nicknames. Johnathan, nothing else.”

“He’s just a dumb Scarecrow with no sense of humor,” Harley said, strolling in, twirling some of her now messy hair. “At least we don’t have to ask the Wizard for a brain for you.”

Johnathan Crane gritted his teeth in annoyance- but didn’t hide it as his eyes gave Harley a once over. She winked at him, before the sound of broken glass got both their attentions.

“Oops.”

“Oh goddammit,” Johnathan said, turning to see the broken vial at the feet of the Joker. “Just sit down and don’t touch anything.” He reached for a broom and tried to sweep the glass up out of their reach. “What the hell do you want, anyone?”

The Joker settled down into a computer chair and spun around once, giggling before he laced his fingers together and grinned. “It’s all started, Johnny boy. Time to raise our banners and protect our honor!”

“Nonsense,” Johnathan muttered as he gathered up the glass and tossed it into a trash can.

“It’s not nonsense.”

All three heads turned towards the feminine voice, the slender body leaning one curved hip against the only other door into Crane’s little make-shift lab. Ivy had a serious look to her Earthy eyes, but her ruby lips were quirked up in a smile.

Harley rushed over, squealing her name, and threw her arms around the redhead, hugging her. Momentarily distracted, Harley gave her blonde hair an affectionate stroke as the Joker grinned at her.

“Ah, see, I like her, Crane. She knows what’s going on. It’s war, Crane, and someone has already made the first move.”

Crane stopped moving now, turning to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“As sure as the men with guns outside my humble little home.” He reached up, resting his hand to his brow and faking a swoon. “Oh it was just _awful_ , being cast out into the rain with nothing but the clothes on our backs and the bullets in our guns.”

“Just dreadful!” Harley added, and Ivy chuckled, giving her cheek a little pinch.

“Whose men?” Crane asked as he pulled his lab coat off and tossed it on the table.

“I didn’t stick around to find out,” the Joker admitted, watching as Crane fitted a black jacket on and clasped it shut, his hands folding back to touch his wrists. No one else seemed to notice the movement except the Joker-

He had something hidden there, and the clown made a mental note.

“So what’s the plan? We go out there and figure it out, and send them screaming home?” The doctor grinned as the Joker stood up, adjusting his jacket and tie.

“No. You are staying here- all of you. We’re only looking for one man- and I’m the best, ah, bait there is to draw him out.”

The moment the sun was down, the streets were alive. Bruce could feel it in his bones as he traversed via rooftops, noticed more shadows moving. Someone was waiting.

Or a lot of someones.

Bruce placed a hand on the cold concrete as he crouched, counting a good five guys assembled loosely together. He didn’t like the look of them- too big, too built, and in the distance and dark he couldn’t quite tell what they had on them, but he was pretty sure there had to be a gun hidden somewhere on each one.

Before he could investigate further, a grating, sing-song voice broke the silence, with a melodic, “Yoohoo _boys_ ,” and suddenly the Joker was sauntering open, one hand toying with his curls- grinning, like he always did.

Bruce couldn’t even twitch before one of the guys had a gun in his hand, pointing it right at the clown. But then he was moving- rushing down in a leap, cape fluttering around him- taking off into a run as the scene played out.

“Now, that is no way to greet a lady,” the Joker said, dropping his hand, his voice dropping an octave as well. “But let’s cut right to, ah, business then. Who sent you strapping young lads to my doorstep?”

“Bane,” one of them said, stepping forward, until the muzzle of his gun pressed to the Joker’s temple. “He sends his regards- he’s upset the game had to end for you so soon.”

The Joker smirked- just a quick twitch of the corner of his lips, and then his hand flung out, and the gun to his temple clattered to the ground as its owner’s throat opened up and stained him bloody crimson.

The Joker kicked at the other man holding a gun to him, foot connecting with gut and he doubled over, managed to move as the remaining three were arming, opening fire. He rolled towards a dumpster and slipped around it, back pressed to it, just as Batman made contact with one man, knocking him over, gun flying. Grinning, the Joker pounced back out, fist colliding with another man, before he swiped his legs out from beneath him and caught his gun as he dropped it.

Without hesitation he aimed, fired, and blew his brains all over the sidewalk.

Batman jerked his head up at the sound, and the only man standing leaped, head-locked him, ready to twist and break his neck. The Joker aimed, and pulled the trigger, even though Batman took up the majority of the target.

For a brief second, Bruce was sure that bullet was going to slice through his mask and into his brain. For a moment, he was sure he was dead-

And then the grip on him loosened, and the man crumpled down to the ground. Three dead, two on the ground. The one Batman tackled had hit his head and lay unconscious- the first man remaining man seemed to have twisted, torn, or broke something in his fall, as he couldn’t stand. The Joker smiled at him, lifted the gun, finger poised on the trigger, when he felt Batman’s heavy gauntleted hand on his arm, pushing it down.

“No,” he said, stern, and the Joker gave him a look of distaste, before he tossed the gun behind him, then kicked out, heel connecting with the man’s head and leaving him unconscious on the ground.

“Thanks for the helping hand, Bats doll,” he said, brushing some of the dust from his suit, wincing a little at a burning sensation on his shoulder.

“You weren’t kidding when you said a war was coming,” Batman said, lifting one of the unconscious men and propping him up against the building. The Joker watched idly as he did the same with the other, and then tied their hands together.

“It’d be more efficient to let me chop them up, or blow their brains out,” the Joker said, folding his arms. Another jolt of burning pain- but he ignored it.

“ _No_. I don’t kill- I wouldn’t let you, either.” He stood up, and as he walked over the Joker held his fists up, wrists touching.

“Calling them in to Gordon, then? Best tie me up too, Bats- or I might play a bit _rough_.” He winked and giggled, but Bruce ignored his hands and ran his fingers up along his right arm. The sleeve of his coat was turning an almost black crimson, and slick to the touch.

“You’re bleeding.”

The Joker looked, raised on delicate eyebrow, then laughed. “Looks like I am. Well then, you can tell your lap dog you did it to me, so word doesn’t get out you came in to play dark knight to me, ah, damsel in distress.” He laughed again, but when Batman’s fingers reached his shoulder and slipped into the rip in his jacket and shirt, against torn flesh and something large and sharp embedded within, his giggle broke into a choked gasp, and he jerked away.

“I need to take a look at that.”

“Fuck off,” the Joker said, “they’ll do that when they take me to Arkham. You don’t have to get your hands dirty, cupcake.”

Batman gritted his teeth, then reached out, taking the Joker by the wrist. He tugged him as he turned to walk away, and the clown followed, a smirk reaching his lips the Bat never saw.

The Batmobile, as the Joker loved to jokingly call it, was a fearsome thing outside- and inside, he couldn’t say it was any less fearsome. It felt like an agile tank, and crammed into a seat and told not to move, he couldn’t help but reach out and run his gloves fingers over little switches and buttons- not with enough force to activate anything, but enough to make Bruce curse him out.

“I said don’t touch anything,” Batman said as he drove, and the Joker just giggled.

“ _Anything_?” He reached out, let his fingers dance up Bruce’s thigh, before he masked man scowled and knocked the hand away. The clown pouted but contented himself counting the endless glowing buttons above his head.

After only getting through two rows, the car jerked to a stop, and suddenly Batman was half in his seat, pushing him into it. For a moment- actually shocked- the Joker had no retort, just a little gasp as he involuntarily pushed up against the man, his body calling for contact. When it happened, the Bat went rigid, and for a moment forgot what he was doing, about the heavy black strip of cloth in his hand.

Instead he just stared into those wild green eyes, and remembered what those lips had felt like on his, the taste that wouldn’t leave his mouth, the weight of the lithe man in his lap. He was aching and hard in places he hated himself for.

Forcing his mind to clarity, he reached up, pressing the cloth to the Joker’s eyes and tying it around his head.

“Keep this on, and you can stay conscious,” he said, his breath ghosting over the Joker’s lips. The clown smiled, licked his lips, getting the scars at the corners of his mouth, and whispered,

“Sure thing, sugar. _Anything_ you say.” Bruce bit his lip, thankful the man couldn’t see, and forced himself back into his seat as he began driving again.

He wasn’t sure what he was thinking, if he was thinking at all. Taking the Joker to the Batcave posed a few problems. First, it was his sanctum, and by letting the clown in he felt he was defiling it. There was so much precious research and data there, gadgets the clown did not need to get his hands on.

Two, it was too close to home. If the man were to see his surroundings before entering, it could be all over for Bruce. He’d know who he was under the mask.

And finally, he should have left him tied up for Gordon and the police, who at this time were probably collecting the two remaining attackers. Bruce had left the Joker out of the account entirely, and while he hoped the two would talk and give up some details as to what the hell was going on, he didn’t think they would. He ahd to get his information from other sources.

Sources involved in all this upcoming chaos. Sources with painted mouths and Cheshire grins.

The Joker, shockingly to Bruce, obeyed and didn’t touch the blindfold. He let Batman guide him out of the tumbler and through his sanctum, until his hip was bumping a cold metal table.

“Hop up,” Bruce said, pulling one of his gauntlets off, and the Joker listened, sitting on the cold metal and gripping the edge with gloved hands.

“Ah Doc, I can tell you where it hurts,” he purred, smirking, “but you might just make it hurt worse. At first, anyway.”

“Shut up,” Bruce said, removing the other gauntlet and pulling a tray over. He reached out and pushed the Joker’s jacket off, tossed it to the end of the table, and began to unbutton his shirt. When his bare fingers brushed pale skin, he heard the Joker purr again.

“Mmm Bats, can I at least _watch_ you undress me?”

“I’m not undressing you.”

“Sweetie, what would _you_ call it, then?” Bruce’s brow furrowed and thought, but realized that was _exactly_ what he was doing.

“I have to get to your wound,” he said, opening the vest, and then undoing the last buttons. The Joker’s skin was pale, creamy and scarred, and for a second Bruce just stared at the sliver that was exposed, his thumb tracing the edge of one scar. The Joker purred, and Bruce pushed the shirt aside, tracing it, wondering if it was one of his, or if someone else had caused it.

Mentally scolding himself, he gripped the shirt and guided it and the vest down his arms, tossing it over with his jacket. The now shirtless clown smiled, leaning back, and Bruce watched as skin and bone moved under taught skin, as scars stretched- little ridge that he suddenly wanted to taste.

_Pull yourself together Bruce, or you’ll slip up._

He walked around and examined the man’s shoulder. The wound was more on his back- a thick, jagged piece of glass jutting out. He frowned.

“Did you not notice this?”

“Thought it was a scratch,” the Joker muttered, shrugging his good shoulder. “How ‘bout you take this blindfold off cupcake and let me, ah, see.”

“Not on your life. There’s a huge chunk of glass in your shoulder, I’m going to have to pull it out.” He reached onto the tray, took a little swab and dosed it with disinfectant, and began running it around the wound. The Joker winced as it stung his torn flesh, and felt Batman putting the slightest bit of pressure on the glass. “Ready?”

“As I’ll ever be lambchop.”

Bruce gripped it with some clamps and tugged, the glass ripping from the flesh with a sick sucking sound- the Joker crying out as flesh tore further and blood welled up. Bruce dropped the glass on the tray and pressed gauze to the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. The Joker didn’t speak, but his body trembled just slightly- Bruce was sure it hurt like hell.

“There’s a few little shards I have to get out,” he said, pulling the gauze away. “I’ve got some pain killers-“

“No.” The Joker sucked in a breath. “ _No drugs_.”

Bruce opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again and lifted up a pair of tweezers, setting to the task of carefully pulling out the remaining little shards. Once he was satisfied, he disinfected the wound once more, and considered how many stitches the man would need.

“I need to stitch it up,” he said, “just take something-“

“No!” The Joker’s voice was loud, deep, serious and overly intimidating. “No drugs, Bats. It’s a rule of mine.”

Bruce frowned and tried to numb the area as best he could, then set to his- rather sloppy- stitches. With how many scars the Joker had, he didn’t think one more would be a problem. When he was done he tapped a bandage to it, let his hand rest against the Joker’s back.

“There, all patched up.”

“Gee, _thanks_ doc.” He sighed, rotated his shoulders, and Bruce heard bones crack. “You could have let those loonies at Arkham do it though. Save yourself some trouble.”

“I would have- if I was sending you back to Arkham.” Bruce pushed the tray aside. “Lay down for a bit, I don’t want you fainting.”

“You make me sound like a blushing bride. Is it our wedding night, _dar-ling_?” Bruce ignored the comment and guided the man down, a folded towel resting under his hair. The Joker sighed, and Bruce could see him visible relax- even if the table was probably freezing. “So, if I’m not going back to lovely five star Arkham, what are you doing with me, oh great and powerful Battyman?”

“Putting you back on the streets,” Bruce said, eyes roaming the man’s stomach and chest. “On one condition.”

“And that is...?”

“You keep me informed on _everything_ you know about this war. And I mean everything.” Bruce reached out, traced two fingers along the man’s navel. The Joker smiled, exhaling softly.

“If I do that, Bats, you’ve gotta do something for me.”

“I already am-“

“No, you’re _no-t_.” He chuckled. “If you sent me to Arkham, I could just get out. You and I both know that. You’ve got to do something _useful_ for me.”

Bruce hesitated, before quietly asking, “what?”

“You’re going to help me,” the Joker said, sitting up and leaning into Bruce- face so close, as if he could see him without the use of his eyes. “You’re going to help me win this war.”

He closed the gap, and Bruce felt his lips- oddly hot- on his, and sanity be damned, his hand traveled to the man’s hip and gripped it, kissing him back, tongue flicking against his scarred lips, the tip of his venomous tongue, tasting the sweetness of lies and the heavy, thickness of chaos.

**Author's Note:**

> Too much dialogue for me, but I know there's gotta be some. Oh well, hope you guys enjoyed! Eventually it'll be a bit more...adult oriented ;)


End file.
